


eternity

by ninata



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Body Horror, Endgame musings, Freeform, Gamrezi mentioned, Gen, Karkat mentioned, M/M, Pale Gamkar mentioned, Tavros mentioned a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-13
Updated: 2016-04-13
Packaged: 2018-06-02 01:54:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6545752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninata/pseuds/ninata
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A forgotten half of Gamzee sits in a fridge and the rot sets in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	eternity

It’s an eternity of nothing. Of blinding pain, of verses half finished and bodies torn asunder. Colors are forgotten, a bright red that radiated kindness, an earthy brown that curled into his chest and tightened around his blood pump. He remembers the words, not the sights. Not in the darkness.

He spat hatred so raw, his tongue caught in his throat and keys tore up the soft flesh. He’s known rage, known anger and indignance and wanted so desperately for that fake justice Terezi gawked about to be real. Gamzee is a firm believer in spirituality. Gamzee is a firm believer that salvation comes to those who are worthy. Gamzee believes he is not.

He thinks of smaller times, times round and full. He thinks of the smell of the ocean, another thing forgotten in sensation. He thinks of warm hands, lowblood heat that tickled his fingerpads. That seems eons away. He used to be young, but a trickster lives for sweeps, collects dust under his fingernails and wrinkles beside his peepers. Gamzee remembers pain; the real pain, not the bullets in your chest kind. He remembers dead bodies and bloated faces and bugged out eyes. He remembers tears. He remembers wanting, praying, aching for someone who never gave him a second glance. He knows even now, one word and Gamzee may have thrown it away for him.

Gamzee sits in oppressive cold, fuzzy shapes and hallucinations keeping him in between consciousness and unconsciousness. Karkat, Tavros, Terezi and Equius bake him a pie. A real pie, no sopor, the kind with a crust like the Jane girl made. It’s tasty. Gamzee doesn’t remember taste anymore. Nepeta’s claws pry out Gamzee’s sight globes, rake through his body and pull him apart. His organs paint the floor indigo, and Gamzee doesn’t remember indigo anymore. Tavros says yes. Caliborn grinds his heel into Gamzee’s throat. Calliope calls him “dad”. The humans all eat Gamzee’s teeth while his head rests on a platter.

Gamzee remembers haze, hands moving when he didn’t want them to, thoughts that didn’t belong and words he didn’t want. He remembers fear, remembers watching the faces of people he once cared for twisting and congealing into a pulpy mess. Every single timeline, tangled pieces of threads that knotted up to the point Gamzee couldn’t keep them straight. Miracles that never came true, promises that broke and lonely, harsh lonely that crushed him into a little ball. Some cerulean sister, some puppet who whispered so sweetly and carved out a path in Gamzee’s thinkpan. Gamzee stopped being Gamzee a long time ago, the innocent clown who wanted his friends to smile and let them trample him into the ground dead as the lowbloods who deserved more than him. Gamzee remembers wishing they had better. Gamzee always believed that something bigger than them would have a place for them all.

Gamzee remembers Kurloz, a stranger to him besides a shared name. Makara, a meaningless word that used to mean so much. Gamzee remembers status, a nice hive, a lusus who swam away and water filling his guts. Gamzee remembers waking up in the sand, cold and wet, shaking trembles and tremors and tumbling his way inside. He didn’t want to be this way.

He’s not resentful. This was for the best. _Everyone is happier without you,_ a tiny voice says. Another says _Maybe they’re all dead._ One just screams.

Gamzee dreams of a whole different world, weaves intricate fantasies that almost feel like dream bubbles. He gets older, his matesprit smiles like he always did, his moirail chides his bad hygiene and makes him food, his kismesis isn’t scary and she isn’t nails and fangs and his thoughts aren’t wrong. He helps change Alternia. Everyone’s happy, everyone smiles, everyone gets along.

He almost forgot he wanted that world.

Gamzee sits forever. He tries to remember the scratchy voice that rhymed with him. He can’t. He tries to remember the lull of a punchline blooded brother. He can’t. He can’t remember brown, or red, or teal or blue or olive or purple or fuchsia or maroon or gold or jade or cerulean, all of it’s gone and it _hurts._ Gamzee wants that world back. Gamzee hates that world. It fluctuates, guilt and grief and resentment and regret, anger and sadness, it swirls and swirls and he wants the end, wants to fade out of existence and stop altogether. Tears don’t come, nothing comes, nobody comes and he hates himself for it. Hates every decision he made, hates that no worlds ended happy, hates that every time he lost control and let the cloudy grip and icy tendrils invade his head and take hold. He hates every smile, hates every frown, hates every honk and every motherfuck and every brother and sister. He hates hates hates, burning and numbing and wanting it to stop, wanting to stumble their way and beg for forgiveness, wanting them to stomp him out of his misery. The messiahs cursed him, branded him as the original sin, the dot between his eyebrows that swallowed him whole.

Gamzee dissipates, stretching the inside of the fridge, rotting and curdling. His thinkpan screams into his heardiscs, wrenching apart every millimeter of sanity. He knows it can’t end, that it’ll always be like this. He knows he won’t ever be the troll he was before. He knows this is how it ends, a never-ending torture to punish him for everything he ever did, the good and bad. This is all he ever deserved. This is all he ever could’ve had.

People like him don’t get happy endings, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> i never thought i'd write homestuck again, nor would i post it to my ao3, but the last update got me really emotional. i guess in the end i'm still a sucker for my son. call me an apologist, you're not entirely wrong, but i still wish he could've been redeemed and had some kind of happy ending. but, as stated, people like him don't normally get that.


End file.
